


lend me your hand (we'll conquer them all)

by rodrikstark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst, Banter, Best Friends, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jaeger Engineer!Reader, Jaeger Pilot Steve Rogers, Jaeger Pilot!Steve Rogers, Jaeger Pilots, Jaegers (Pacific Rim), Jealousy, Kaiju (Pacific Rim), Love, Male-Female Friendship, Marvel x Pacific Rim, Mentions of Death, Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Pacific Rim x Marvel, Pining, Sarcasm, Swearing, The Drift (Pacific Rim)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-23 21:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30061815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rodrikstark/pseuds/rodrikstark
Summary: after the jaeger program rejects him multiple times, steve rogers needs to prove that he can be Drift compatible with at least one person. he enlists your help.(aka FAKE "DATING" but make it PACIFIC RIM)
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. part 1

**Author's Note:**

> pacific rim is THE sexiest fictional universe. i don’t think you need to be super familiar with the movies to read this though, bc we’re all just here for the fake “dating” ;) title from “awake my soul” (mumford and sons)

Your eyes feel dry as you stare at your computer for the fourth hour in a row. Some distant voice tells you to _take a break for once, will ya?_ but the generator you’ve hammered at all day still has an issue. You tilt your head, as if that will magically make it visible, when the door to your garage opens with a dull thud.

Only one other person in the world has access to your shop. Alarmed, you stand up and lean over to watch the doorway. Thankfully, it’s just Steve.

“You could knock,” you holler at him. 

He navigates around your various work tables and unfinished projects with familiar ease, heavy and metallic objects jostling in a knapsack thrown over his shoulder. “Got you a surprise,” he says grumpily. 

It surprises you that he’s here at all. Not that you really expected him to get accepted into the Jaeger Program this time, but before, he had called you. Told you when he was on the way back to DC, on his way home.

You sit back down and spin the 3D model of your project aimlessly, watching him out of the corner of your eye. As he approaches you, he grabs a handful of tortilla chips from the bowl you had set out earlier.

He tosses the knapsack unceremoniously onto the other end of your table with a loud bang. Steve yanks at the zippers, shaking the bottom of the bag until over a dozen small Jaeger parts fall out. 

“Holy shit.” You stand up, immediately beginning to sort through the various parts, already starting to imagine taking them apart to study their construction. “Where did you get this?”

With a chip shoved in his mouth, he plops down on a stool. “Stole it.” 

Frowning at him, you raise your hands away from all the tech, as if its newfound illicitness burns your skin. You want to reprimand him for his recklessness, for robbing the very program he wants to join so badly, but Steve continues to shovel chips in his mouth, staring off in the distance. 

As long as you’ve known Steve Rogers, he has wanted to be a Jaeger pilot. You met at a bar almost three years ago, sitting a few stools apart, intensely fascinated by the television. The screen featured a live broadcast of American pilots Danvers and Rambeau taking down another monstrous Kaiju off the coast of Manila. You focused on the complicated mechanics of their Jaeger, _Warbird,_ while Steve carefully examined their fighting style. 

“Fucking incredible,” he had muttered under his breath, his awe matching yours. You turned to him, introduced yourself, and you have been friends ever since.

Now, you sigh. “I’m sorry you didn’t get in.”

After a few blank-faced blinks, Steve perks up, a lightning-fast change in his mood that instantly raises your suspicion. “There’s another recruitment event next month, in New York.” He wipes his hands of salt and crumbs, smiling deviously. “And I think you should come with me.”

“Why?”

He reaches down to open his backpack, digging his hand around until he finds a file. He tosses it to you, the folder spinning briefly on the table as it reaches you. Warily, you open it.

— _Steven Grant Rogers  
_— _Male, 6’2”, 240 lbs  
_— _Strengths: In-depth knowledge of all combat techniques. Adaptive. Possesses comparatively high strength and speed. Demonstrates intelligence and instinct._  
— _Weaknesses: Impulsive. Aggressive. Prone to conflict. Disobeys direct orders. Not Drift compatible with any other candidate.  
_— **_REJECTED_**

You raise your eyebrows, laughing a little. “Damn, they really nailed you with this, Rogers.” You give the paper back to him. “What does this have to do with me?”

“I think I just need to show them that I can be Drift compatible with someone.” His leg bounces excitedly.

That doesn’t fully answer your question, but by now you’re familiar enough with Steve’s antics that you know what he implies. “And you think you could be compatible with me?”

“Yes.”

“Because we’re already friends.”

He nods.

“And if we go to New York, and pretend to be strangers who happen to get along phenomenally…” You narrow your eyes. “You’ll finally seem like an actually pleasant person, and they’ll let you into the Jaeger Program?”

He smiles big. “It’s like you can already read my mind.” He pauses. “But hey, I can be a pleasant person.” 

“Name one time.”

He laughs heartily, and your face warms with satisfaction, knowing you helped bring him out of his sour mood. “True.”

You shake your head, prying open your laptop again so you can examine your project for the four-hundredth time. Mostly, you want to ignore his pleading face. “You can’t fake compatibility, Steve.” 

He moves to your side of the table with puppy-dog eyes. “Just have to make sure we get paired up initially. I have the interview questions memorized, so we’ll ace that part, easy.”

You glare at him when he tries to reach over and shut your computer. “And the combat portion?”

Shrugging, he says, “I’ll choreograph a convincing fight, you just have to play along.”

You groan. “Steve. I’m an engineer, okay? I don’t learn how to beat up other people for fun.”

“First of all, it’s staff fighting.” He picks up a Jaeger part, tossing it a couple of times in his hand before lobbing it at you. You squeal and use both hands to catch it. Quickly, he moves to shut your laptop. “Second of all, you couldn’t beat me up if you tried.”

Your nostrils flare. “It sounds really tempting right now.” 

Setting down the part, you try to lift up the screen of the computer, but Steve keeps it pressed down. “The recruitment event’s not ‘til next month. I’ll have plenty of time to teach you.”

How did you land yourself the most irritating friend in the universe? “What about the Drift test?” you ask pointedly. 

His face falters for a split second. You almost don’t catch it.

This phase of recruitment, you know very little about. Not only because the neuroscience behind the mind-melding Drift space eludes you entirely, but because Steve has expertly evaded talking about it whenever you asked.

Then, he grins, boyish and handsome and catching you off guard. “We’re friends. Our brains already like each other.” He thuds back down on the chair, throwing his hands back behind his head, so his biceps flex. “It’s fuckin’ foolproof.”

“This is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” you say flatly. 

He scoffs. “What? No.”

“No, it really is.” You point a finger at him. “Which is saying something, Rogers.” Your brow furrows. “You know I have no interest in piloting, right?”

“So when they offer us a position in the program, you’ll just say no and move on with your life while I find a new co-pilot.“

_“When?”_ you ask incredulously.

“It’ll work,” he says arrogantly. He moves to press his forearms on the table, leaning his upper body towards you and forcing you to look into his blue eyes.

“What if we get caught?”

Sighing, he asks, "What do you have to lose?”

“Um, my precious time and dignity? And…” You reopen your computer, log in, and spin it so he can see your generator and all its flaws. “What if I decide I _do_ want to apply to the Jaeger engineering program some day?”

He studies your work for a long moment. “I’ll take the fall if anything happens,” he promises you gently. “But you’re like, a genius. They won’t reject you anyway.” His head tilts in a playful gesture, but his face portrays something else entirely: desperate, and determined. “Please just do this for me.”

You hate him, for his stupid stubbornness, and for the way he knows he can convince you if he flatters your intelligence. What’s more, you don’t think he has ever asked you for something and said _please_. “Ugh, fine.”

Steve jumps up from the table. “Great! Let’s go get dinner.”

“I ate earlier,” you insist, as he spins on his feet, locating your jacket on a nearby chair and throwing it at you.

“Tortilla chips isn’t dinner,” he says, already halfway out of your workshop. “C’mon, you need a break.”


	2. part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you and steve take a break after a long night of studying.

You sit cross-legged on the floor in front of Steve’s coffee table, blinking up at him as he sits on the edge of his couch and thinks of another question. “Where are you from?” 

You lean over and grab the mug sitting on a coaster in front of you. As you take a careful sip of tea, you think about the correct answer. “Uh… Chicago.”

Steve nods. “Good, but don’t hesitate. Where in Chicago?”

“The… west part?” you guess nervously.

He rolls his eyes, then shifts back on the sofa with a huff. “Really?”

You sigh, putting down the cup with a weary clink. You slump your head and arms across the table, purposely being dramatic. “Steve, I’m sleepy.”

“You can’t even remember the answer to this simple question,” he says, slightly affectionate.

Keeping your forehead pressed to the cool glass, you grab and wave around the pieces of paper onto which Steve had printed the Jaeger Program interview questions, as well as the carefully crafted responses you need to memorize. “I’m trying to remember all these answers, isn’t that more important?”

“You need to get your basic story consistent, or they’ll figure us out,” he says. You sense him grab your laptop, which lies to the left of your pathetically flailed arms. “Hey, c’mere. I just remembered something.”

You drag yourself off the floor until you’re sitting next to Steve.

“I have to buy you a train ticket,” he tells you, typing in your password and opening up a browser.

Frowning, you watch him type a destination—New York—and click on a search result. “Why?” You could probably figure it out yourself if you felt like giving anything a second thought, but at the moment, you just want to go to sleep.

“We have to get there separately. I’ll drive, you take a train,” he explains. “It’s suspicious if we show up together.”

“You’re not usually one to care about getting in trouble.” Lazily, you begin to list his misdemeanors on your fingers: “Stealing, reckless driving, disorderly conduct—”

He waves you off. “I don’t care about that stuff when it’s just me. It’s different when you’re involved.” On the website, he selects the date the recruitment camp will start, almost two weeks from now.

You hum thoughtfully. “But I was in the car when you got pulled over for reckless driving,” you remind him. “And in the bar for both disorderly conducts. Also, the stolen Jaeger tech is still in my shop—”

“Okay, okay,” he interjects, chuckling. 

“So what’s different this time?” You turn so you can lay your head on the arm of the couch. Curling up on your side, you let your heavy eyelids close. 

“Why are you asking so many questions?”

“I’m about to be in your head, Rogers,” you sing, poking at his thigh with your sock. “You might as well let me know what you’re thinkin’ right now.” You shove your cold toes under his thick leg.

“Holy shit.”

“What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

Steve places the laptop on the table and scrambles for the TV remote. His hands shake when he turns it on, causing you to sit up in concern.

He flips through channels until you hear a news anchor’s stiff voice. _“… mourning the tragic death of renowned hero, Natalia Romanoff. The Russian was one of the youngest pilots recruited in Jaeger Program history, invited at just 27 years old.”_

While reading the text at the bottom of the screen, you blink over and over again, like you could somehow change what it said. **_BREAKING NEWS: RUSSIAN PILOT DIES AT 31._**

Steve leans forward, his elbows pressing into his knees, his hands wringing.

_“Earlier this evening, Romanoff and her co-pilot Yelena Belova took on a Category III Kaiju approximately a hundred miles off the coast of Chile. The central hull of their Jaeger,_ Black Widow, _was punctured during the confrontation, forcing both pilots to eject. As a warning to our viewers: What you are about to see is graphic_ —”

“Steve, turn it off,” you whisper. You can’t close your eyes, as much as you want to. 

_“…Resulting in injuries. Rescuers rushed the partners to a hospital in Santiago, but—”_

You wince, facing Steve. Reflections of the TV flicker in his pupils. “Don’t you want to know what happened?” he snaps.

_“Belova survives, but remains in critical condition. We will update you as we get more information from the Pan Pacific Defense Corps.”_

“I don’t wanna see it,” you say, your voice small. “Please, I feel sick.” You tug at his sleeve. “Steve.”

With a grimace, he shuts down the TV, tossing the remote onto the glass surface, the loud clatter making you flinch. 

Steve has a soft spot for the Russian pilots. They started young, utterly defied expectations, and became heroes in a matter of months. Right alongside him, you had admired the build of _Black Widow_ , with its innovations in nanotechnology and vibranium armor.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Steve bites out, standing up in one swift burst of aggression, accidentally bumping the coffee table with his legs and knocking over your tea.

The mug stays intact after the fall, but you stare at the splattered liquid, which slowly spreads across his floor as Steve paces the room. 

For the past six months, with the increasingly frequent appearances of higher-Category Kaiju, the deaths of Jaeger pilots have risen. You wonder what Steve sees when they make these announcements. The tragedy of a fallen hero? A reflection of himself, and the sacrifice he wants to make? Or just another life, senselessly lost to the growing threat of Kaiju?

You pull your legs up and fold them into your chest, biting your bottom lip to keep from crying. Steve turns at the sound, then sits to pull you into a one-armed hug, the bridge of his nose against your temple. 

You stay there for a moment, feeling secure against Steve’s body, even as he trembles with the weight of his frustration. Guilt wrenches sharply at your heart. You wish you could stomach the news the same way he can. 

But you know why you can’t. Because every time a pilot dies, you feel one inevitable step closer to losing him. To the Jaeger Program, when they recruit him away from you. To some co-pilot, who replaces you as his best friend.

To Kaiju, who might one day kill him.

You squirm away and yank the sides of your cardigan closer to your torso. “I should go,” you whisper. You stand up in an instant, but Steve grasps your hand. Squeezes once, hard. You squeeze him back before pulling out of his grip to pick up the mug and walk it to the sink. He trails behind you, grabbing a dish towel on the counter. 

Hoping to quickly gather your stuff and get out of his apartment, you spin on your heels, abruptly halted by Steve’s wide torso blocking your way.

“Don’t go yet.” He can’t quite look you in the eye, as he sways forward into your space.

“I don’t wanna keep you from watching the news.“

“But I don’t wanna be alone,” he admits, his voice wavering.

You don’t either.

With a brisk sigh, you yank the towel out of his clutches, pushing past him and towards the spilled tea. “Fine.” You crouch down to wipe up the liquid, trying to pout playfully in spite of your heart racing. “But if you start quizzing me again, Rogers, I swear I’m out of here.”

You can hear the bittersweet smile in the way he promises, “No more studying.” Once you finish wiping the stain, he takes the towel from you, throwing the damp fabric across the room and into his kitchen. As you resume your positions on the sofa, Steve reaches for a worn blanket and spreads it across your laps. “How about a movie? You pick.” 

He wipes at his cheeks and settles your computer on his legs, opening the lid. You whimper, “I’m gonna fall asleep if we watch a whole movie.”

“So just sleep over,” he says, like it’s simple. 

You’ve stayed before, but those nights spent on his couch were more like passing out after a few hours of drinking, Steve stumbling to his own room, you leaving sheepishly in the morning. 

This feels different, and a part of you would rather pick up and go, to avoid further complicating everything you feel. But you know you don’t want to be far away from him, not after what you saw on the news.

Even if it’s just sleeping on his sofa, with him in the adjacent room, it would be close enough; he’d be yours for at least one more night.

“Tomorrow, we’ll start studying again, bright and early.” He gives you a small, sad smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if steve rogers asked me to spend a whole night studying with him i simply would


	3. part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steve is not jealous.

You try to remind yourself: you and Steve are maintaining this façade at the recruitment camp for a good cause, ultimately. Yet, you resent how the stiff bed digs into your back every night, and find it disgusting to share a bathroom with so many people. Also, the cafeteria food sucks; you stab aimlessly at most of your meals, sensing Steve’s concerned gaze on you from across the table.

Others have their eyes on you, too. In this initial stage, the Jaeger Program constantly takes note of which candidates interact, and how. Then, they will assign you a partner for the next phases of recruitment. This surveillance—this gross feeling of being monitored—annoys you the most. 

But, on the bright side, the Program hosts social gatherings, hoping to get a more authentic assessment of the group’s dynamics.

They provide plenty of free alcohol, and you have plenty of cute guys to talk to that aren’t Steve.

“What’s a guy with your accent doing in the big city?” you ask coyly.

One of the potential recruits, this huge guy named Thor, leans against the bar. “Born and raised in Australia, but I’ve lived in New York for the past five years,” he explains.

He nods to the bartender, then hands you the drink you ordered. “Thank you,” you say shyly. You tilt the plastic cup to your lips as Thor watches you.

“Where are you from?” Oh, his accent makes you _melt._

By now, you’ve rehearsed this question with Steve enough times to answer with confidence. “Chicago, originally. I haven’t lived in New York as long, maybe only a year.”

A big grin grows on his face. “I bet there’s plenty of things you still haven’t seen in the city.”

Your cheeks warm, and you take another sip. “You wanna show me some time?”

Over Thor’s right shoulder, Steve appears. Because he stands about fifteen feet away, he looks almost comically small as he glares at the back of Thor’s head, which is covered in all his gorgeous, long blond hair. Then his eyes flick to you, jerking his chin and signaling you to follow him.

You scowl into your drink.

Thor asks, “Are you alright?”

You sigh airily. “I’m fine. Excuse me.” You duck around him, grabbing a beer from the end of the bar as you stride to meet Steve in a darkened corner, away from Thor and the rest of the crowd.

Steve looks great tonight. You actually hid your face the second he stepped into the room, because you thought the JP officers would have noticed, and found it suspicious, just how much his appearance flustered you. He wears a blue shirt, your favorite one, which somehow makes his eyes shine even more ridiculously blue. It also stretches over the muscles of his arms nicely. 

Those arms cross in an annoyed gesture. “Will you cut it out with the flirting?” he hisses.

You laugh, handing him the beer. “You jealous, Rogers?”

He blinks at you, clearly pissed. “You’re supposed to be compatible with me. What if they pair you with Odinson?”

“Would that be so bad? I mean…” You let your gaze wander above his shoulder, in the direction of the Australian, whose deep, hearty, laughs you can hear over the background music.

He grabs your arm, hard enough to be uncomfortable. “Don’t. That’s not funny.” His gaze flickers back and forth anxiously, like he thinks you’re actually serious.

Irritated, you yank your forearm free and whisper, “Can you relax? We’ve done everything right.”

You and Steve have interacted as much as possible these past several days, just shy of arousing suspicion in the JP officers. He staked a claim on you pretty early on, always taking a spot adjacent to you in the cafeteria, even requesting other candidates to move if there was no space. Once seated next to you, Steve made sure to ask you a bunch of questions. Not necessarily about your fake backstory—the lines you’ve rehearsed—but what a normal friend would ask. So, things he already knows, has memorized after years of knowing you. _“What’s your favorite Jaeger?”_ and _“What kind of music do you like?”_

And you did your part by trying to compliment him often. In any other circumstance, Steve would have a field day teasing you for the genuinely kind words you said to him, but now he can’t do anything but smile bashfully when you tell him you’re impressed with his knowledge of Jaeger Program history.

Worst of all, Steve would touch you. A playful nudge, a solid thigh pressed along yours when you sat side-by-side, a gentle hand at your waist when he walked behind you. He has never touched you this much. It made your face hot, made you trip on your words when you’d normally feel perfectly comfortable around him.

But overall, not a single mis-step, at least as far as you knew. And still, somehow, Steve finds a way to irritate and criticize you.

He turns his head sharply, his lips pressing together. He pries open his beer bottle with a quiet _pop_ , his hand flexing and unflexing.

You roll your eyes. “You know what I don’t get sometimes, Steve?” 

“What?” he asks flatly, taking a swig of his beer.

“Why the fuck do you want to kill Kaiju so bad?”

The song changes to something loud and cute and poppy, and you wish you could be singing along, giggling with Thor or Sam or Riley or whoever you want, and maybe have _fun_ for the first time in weeks, for the first time since Steve has started drilling you, constantly, aggressively, and _annoyingly_ on combat technique and interview etiquette. He doesn’t usually act so paranoid, let alone put up all these boundaries around you.

“You really care so much about killing ocean monsters?” you press on, your tone purposely mean and mocking. “That you’re willing to be such an asshole to me?”

“Look,” he snaps. “If you get paired with someone else, it’s all over. I’m trying to make sure that you didn’t waste your _precious_ time by coming here.” 

You fume. “Like you weren’t just cozying up to Maximoff.”

You cringe at how jealous you sound. You don’t care how close he was sitting to Wanda several minutes ago, how he laughed at whatever she said. You don’t care that he hasn’t glanced at you twice all night despite the fact that you _know_ you look good in your dress, Steve only giving a shit once you started chatting up Thor. 

_You don’t care._

He pushes a hand through his blond hair, which you can tell he styled all special for tonight. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ.”

“Just tell me. I mean, killing Kaiju, do you think it’s going to make you feel like a man, or—?”

You stop. At the far end of the room, you see one of the Jaeger Program officers staring directly at you, then turning to his colleague to say something.

Steve tenses. “What?”

Shaking your head, you say, “Nothing.”

He lets out a frustrated exhale. “It’s not about killing Kaiju. People are _dying_. If I can be a pilot, if I can stop it… why shouldn’t I?”

It’s a good enough reason that you force yourself to count to ten, trying to calm down. You can’t let your own feelings get in the way of his abnormally strong sense of duty, his headstrong impulse to throw himself into the literal jaws of death.

You think about Romanoff. 

Frankly, you haven’t really stopped thinking about Romanoff, and Yelena Belova, especially since people here tend to hype up the glory of Kaiju-killing.

“Don’t you ever worry that you’ll get hurt?” you ask, barely audible above the music.

You glance down at your feet, studying the black heels you wore, which have pinched your feet all night. You thought they were cute. You wonder if Steve liked them, or if he would dismiss them as impractical and make you feel like shit.

“What do I have to lose?” Steve mumbles. 

Your breath hitches as you glare at him. You can’t read his face.

You bite your lip, willing yourself to focus on that small physical pain instead of the little rip Steve Rogers just tore in your heart. “Right. I forgot.” You tilt the rest of your drink into your mouth and swallow it all in one go. Coughing at the burn, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, you mutter, “This is all about you.”

Before you or Steve can say anything else you’ll regret, you push past him, swatting at his hand when he tries to grab you again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> steve is NOT 😤 jealous 😠 ok?? he's just a good friend 😤

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on tumblr! @rodrikstark


End file.
